


Time Counts to the End

by Skullsprite (IlluminationEgo)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IlluminationEgo/pseuds/Skullsprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider is a serial killer. Terezi and John are assigned to a murder case, and end up connecting the dots.<br/>Will they catch Dave?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It was 5:16 am on a Friday

You made your first kill at the age of 16 when your foster dad pushed you too far for the final time. Strangely, you didn't panic. You just sat on the floor, sort of stunned, with the top of smashed vase in your left hand and blood on your right. You couldn't tell if it was his, or your own from the shards of glass ((It was his)). You weren't quite sure what to do. Was he even really dead? No pulse. Yeah, he was a goner.

 

You'd seen enough NCIS, CSI, the other run of the mill crime shows that you knew what to do. You had washed your hands, put on a pair of dishwashing rubber gloves, and set about cleaning up. First, everything you'd touched. The soap dispenser, the door handle, the top of the vase. Second, anything with blood on it. Thankfully, it was only your jeans, the vase, the floor, and him. You made a mental note to burn the jeans later after changing. The glass shards went in a cardboard box, taped shut to be later thrown in a city dump.

 

You got your permit at age 15, and know how to drive with no difficulty. The keys to the truck you retrieved from his body. You kept the garage door closed, loaded the body with difficulty and then covered it with black trash bags. The flat cover on the back of the truck insured the invisibility of your lifeless cargo. Then you took your best backpack- the one that you'd bought with 2 years worth of spare change, used for running away only twice. Filled it with some jerky, crackers, some crappy powered milk in the back of the pantry. Still kept the gloves on, of course. Took all the money you could find ($560) and your foster dad's best pair of cowboy boots. Took your favorite book, his CB radio, a towel, his collection of unopened hotel soaps. Your pocketknife- from your real father, God bless his dead soul. And lastly, the rifle foster dad been reaching for to shoot you, and a box of ammo. You stuck your bag on the passenger side floor, laid the rifle on the backseat floor. Went back inside, double checked for any stains, anything abnormal. Wiped down everything with Clorox again. It was 6:04 am on a Friday.

 

At 6:10 am on a Friday, you opened the garage by hand as to be quieter, backed the truck out, closed the garage by hand. Left the neighborhood, heading anywhere but Texas.


	2. 3:54 pm on a Saturday- Reflection while Driving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "[Killing] gives me the most thrilling experience it is even better than getting your rocks off with a girl" - the Zodiac Killer

You did eventually admit to yourself you were a tad bit prideful. But you had something to be proud of, so it was justifiable, like everything else you did. Ridding the the world of the scumbags and having fun at the same time was most certainly the best profession. Of course, you took careful steps not to get caught, and only picked off those you deemed worthy to be killed. Petty thieves- hah! None of your concern. It was the thugs, the corrupted brokers, the cheating-on-their-wives and the abusers who deserved to be wiped out. 

 

3 years ago you'd left your last foster home in Texas with a dead body in the back of truck. Your last stop was in an abandoned warehouse in Colorado with all the gizmos and tools a messiah like you could want. A split screen tv for the news stations, police reports you'd gained over the police scanner you now owned, and a collection of nice sharp swords. You only lived in a small corner of the warehouse, hiding your items in the floor under loose boards. You swept your tracks with an practiced perfection, and always took a little memento. And ID badge, or a driver's license. A photo from their wallet if they had one. And somewhere in the deceased's home- a note in blocky red ink detailing the reasons for the killing. It was a smooth operation. Entertaining. Exhilarating.

 

Money, food, electricity and water was not a problem. You took money from the corrupt and thugs, bought food at gas stations and fast food restaurants -never the same one in a row, or even in the same month- buying only a few things and paying for it in 20s or lower. The bigger bills you kept stashed until you found a way to convert them. You had wired everything you owned up to a small generator that ran on rechargeable batteries that you recharged by either using the small solar panel or by hand cranking it.

 

Every 3 months or so, you'd pack up your stuff into the same truck ((with different plates for every town)) you left in at 16, and move on to another state. Set up in a warehouse or home, anywhere with a roof, and start all over with your process. Everywhere you went, you worked up. Started with picking off the thugs while watching news and homes, getting a feel for the town. Then moved up to residents- the abusers and cheaters. And then the officials. Corrupt, lying, bribing, filthy criminals. Then you'd move on.

 

Sometimes you wouldn't start right back in again. You'd spent as much as 2 months not killing, just driving around- cooling off, you guessed. When you got back to work, you found it even more enjoyable, having missed the * shick* sound of your blade in a person's heart or across their neck.

 

So when you arrived in the town of Topas in California at 4:52 pm on a Saturday, you didn't expect anything to be different.  
It would turn out to be your last messianic act, your final deliverance of these pathetic people. Time counted down to the end, and it would be a bloody end like your bloody start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> johns pov is up next! whoo!


	3. 9:34 am on a Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murder's a pretty game to play at.

You are now someone else, and you're in the middle of a very nice nap in the office, which you probably shouldn't be doing in the first place. Either way, you're rather pissed when the corded phone directly next to you goes off with a shrill ring. You pick up the receiver, mumbling groggily. "Egbert speaking." You hope it's not much- whoever's at the station and on duty gets any cases called in.

 

  
The sound of Terezi's voice- flat, without a single cackle- tells you that something is very wrong. Not much happens in Topas, but when it does, it's usually not anything major. Today must not be the case. You drain the last dregs of your cold coffee from earlier in an effort to wake up as you listen to your partner, spitting it back in the cup when you hear what the problem is. "I'll be right over." You slam down the receiver. Damn, something just had to happen on the day you where going to take Terezi out for dinner.

 

You get in your utterly boring standard police car, flick on the sirens, and peal out of the parking lot. There's not much traffic, as almost everyone else in your highly religious town is in church. You make it to the house at precisely 9:40, and hop out, striding up the concrete stairs and through the open door to stand next to Terezi. She nods at you, pushing her prescriptive red sunglasses further up her nose until they are sitting properly. She always wears a different nail color, and today they are a dark blue. "Officer Egbert, I would like to present to you the body of one Mister Tony Satfos. I call him Orange." 

 

You chuckle. "Well, he certainly does appear to be a Giants fan." You eye the sheer amount of posters and flags he's got on his wall. Well, every one needed a hobby. Yours just happened to be your job ((and flying planes)). "But what concerns me more is the professionalism of this job." You kneel down beside the body, inspecting the clean stab wound through the body.  


 

"Excellent observation! I found this taped to the door when I came in. No fingerprints." Terezi joins you on the floor and hands you a slip of paper. On it is a neatly written bullet-pointed list in red ink. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Text: I apologize for the murder of : Tony Stafos

However, I wish to make clear to you the reasons for this gracious act.  
-This man is the leader of the gang in town.  
-He threatened a shopkeeper with a gun at 12:06 am Saturday.]

 

You suddenly find yourself ready to throw up your breakfast of coffee and blueberry mini muffins. "What in the flying tarnation?" you mutter. Everything starts to stand out to you. The too-perfect cleanliness of the whole situation. The only blood visible was a few specks on the shirt, but even then, it appeared to have been dabbed at with cleaner. 

 

Terezi points towards the kitchen. "The sink may have been dry and there were no wet towels, but water was still warm when I turned it on. Orange wasn't cooking anything, nor washing his hands, by the smell of them. And the water warm-up time here is crap, everyone knows that. Therefore, I suggest the idea that our killer used the warm water to clean up after himself."

 

This is why you love Terezi to bits. She pieces everything together so fast. And-

 

"Oh yes, and in case you are wondering," she proceeds, "I got here so quickly because someone called the local police number, which goes to whoever's out on duty. None of the neighbors are home, so it must have been our killer. What's more, he choose to not call 911, knowing that someone would arrive faster if he called the local number."

 

-and she can practically read your mind. "Alright then. We are obviously dealing with some kind of nutto killer here who kills because he thinks he needs to rid the world of people. Should be easy to track him down, considering he's already made his first slip-up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... taking pictures of my hand and writing like dave is fun.


	4. 12:37 pm on a Sunday, Clouds Overhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John runs into Dave. Terezi discovers that this killer is not someone new.

You enter the local diner- "Raida's", it was called- and waved to the cashier. You were no stranger here, often picking up lunch for both you and Terezi. You glanced around, the diner wasn't as full as usual. It was normally filled with people fresh out of church and hungry for more material food. But today only a few people sat at the counter, and paying at the moment was a tall, lanky blond whom you'd never seen before. "Hey, stranger!" you greeted him, and boy did he jump, spinning around to look at you. He was dressed oddly- pressed white shirt, black slacks. A neatly tied red tie and black aviators with the top bar taken off. Normal church attire for someone out of town, you'd have to guess. But why the shades inside?

 

"Um, hi, I guess." He muttered quietly, edging away from you while tucking a worn wallet back in his pocket.

 

You weren't about to let a stranger go unwelcomed though! That would just be rude. "So what's your business around these parts?"

 

He shrugged, stepped back from the counter. He was tall, that's for sure- maybe about 1 ft more than you, and you were a measly 5'3". "On my way to a funeral. San Jose Area."

 

You gave him a quick nod. "Sorry for your loss." You didn't think of questioning the story, people passed through here all the time on their way to San Jose or San Francisco. You turned and ordered, two turkey sandwiches on rye bread, one with extra mustard, two orders of sweet potato fries, and two Cokes. When you had paid, you noticed the man you had been talking to was gone. He was a real shy one, you supposed. 

 

You arrived back at the office at 12:57 pm, setting Terezi's food on the desk next to her and throwing your empty wrappers into the office trash can. "Any progress?"

 

She nodded, sliding a stack of papers towards you. "I ran the description of the murder through the State records- nothing but a few encrypted files, which of course I had clearance to." She winked at the techie- Captor, who was sipping what appeared to be his 3rd Mountain Dew of the day with a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos in the other hand. 

 

You laughed. "And?"

 

Her face became serious. "And this isn't the first time this has happened. Only it's never gone out as a bulletin because some of the victims where cops... or their family."

 

"So our killer blackmailed every town he's hit before to keep it on the hush-hush? Odd, considering how most killers love the lime-light." Your mind flashed back to the man in the diner. Shy. Didn't want to talk. "Hey, I met some guy in the diner who acted real funny. Didn't want to talk to me, said he was just passing through on his way to San Jose for a funeral."

 

Terezi quickly tapped a few keys on her computer. "And what did he look like?"

 

You pause for a moment to recall. "He was tall, pretty thin and pasty too. Wore aviators inside but the cross bar on top had been, like, hacked off. He was wearing a suit with a red tie."

 

"Anything else?" Terezi paused her typing.

 

"He was really quiet too. Didn't want to talk to me." You shrugged. "That's really about it. Do you want me to check with the churches?" 

 

She nodded. "Yeah. The murder was committed while everyone else was in church. Ask around and find out if the pastor and greeters noticed anyone slipping out, or if they saw your shy man." She tosses you a camera. "And take pictures if you see him or anyone else you don't know. I'll stay here and keep looking through the files for any descriptions. Captor, get your scrawny self over here and help me."

 

You grab your black trenchcoat and head back out the door as Captor groans and grabs a stack of paper and plops himself down on the floor. It's 1:04 pm, and it's starting to rain.


	5. 1:30 pm on a Sunday- Inside the Catholic Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave takes shelter from the rain inside a church and learns of the investigation.

You are now the man you were at the beginning at the of this tale. You are sitting in a pew of this church- Catholic, you'd read on the sign when you ducked inside to avoid the rain. You aren't praying, you'd never believed in a god, or any higher power. And if there was someone or something up there, they were complete assholes, in your opinion. 

 

You mentally curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella, because your hair is wet and matted and you stepped in a particularly nasty puddle, soaking your shoes and the bottom of your slacks. You hear the wooden front doors open and slam shut again, and you know it isn't the pastor because you when you turn around you can see the devote fellow in his office. You remained turned around, trying to catch a glimpse of whomever had just come in-

 

Shoot.

 

You twist around, slouching as far down as you can. It's the police officer from the diner earlier. You hear him rap on the pastor's open office door.

 

"Evening Father." What in the would could he possibly want? It couldn't be anything related to you... could it?

 

"Why hello, John! Your face is always a welcome sight around here. Still attending church?" So that was his first name then. John. And his badge had read Officer Egbert. John Egbert. Names were important to know if one was to keep a low profile in each town.

 

"No, but I have more pressing matters to talk to you about. As you know, there's been a murder. It occurred during one of the church services this morning. Did you or the ushers note anyone leaving early or attempting to sneak in or out?"

 

"Not at all, sorry. All of my attendees are devout and faithful. But Usher Vantas was sick today, or so he said. You might want to look into that."

 

"Thank you, I will definitely check that out. I have a second question too. Did any strangers come in to the service, say like a tall thin man in a suit with a red tie and aviators with the crossbar hacked off?" You sink farther down in your seat. Dammit, he's talking about you. 

 

"Definitely not. I would have remembered a man dressed so oddly."

 

"Thank you, Father. You have a good day now." You heard the slamming of the wooden door again and sighed heavily to yourself. You knew you'd screwed up, you'd really screwed up this time. Making that kill while near everyone else in this frigging god-fearing town was in church... damn. You stood up and hastily exited the church, ducking past the pastor's office to avoid being seen. You'd get that police officer to stop investigating- you had his name, from there it would be simple to track him and his partner down.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I didn't discuss what happened to the body/gloves/box etc. It'll be cleared up later.


End file.
